Mid supernal blessedness,-
Farther onward

With the saints his name to bless.

Yet till we, on high appearing,
With the sin-freed hosts abide,
Welcome is each promise cheering,
Telling us how deep and wide,
Farther onward,

Flows Salvation's blissful tide.

PHEBE A. HANAFORD.

HEAVEN.

BEYOND those chilling winds and gloomy

skies,

Beyond Death's cloudy portal,

There is a land where beauty never dies,

And love becomes immortal.

A land whose light is never dimmed by shade,
Whose fields are ever vernal;

Where nothing beautiful can ever fade,
But blooms for aye, eternal.

HEAVEN.

We may not know how sweet its balmy air,
How bright and fair its flowers;

We may not hear the songs that echo there
Through those enchanted bowers.

The city's shining towers we may not see
With our dim earthly vision;

For Death, the silent warder, keeps the key
That opes those gates elysian:

But sometimes, when adown the western sky
The fiery sunlight lingers,

Its golden gate swings inward noiselessly,
Unlocked by unseen fingers;

And, while they stand a moment half ajar,
Gleams from the inner glory

Stream brightly through the azure vault afar,
And half reveal the story.

O land unknown! O land of love divine!
Father All-wise! Eternal !

187

Guide thou those wandering, way-worn feet of

mine

Into those pastures vernal.

ANONYMOUS.

188

NO SICKNESS THERE.

NO SICKNESS THERE.

No sickness there,

No weary wasting of the frame away, No fearful shrinking from the midnight air, No dread of summer's bright and fervid ray!

No hidden grief,

No wild and cheerless vision of despair,
No vain petition for a swift relief,

No tearful eyes, no broken hearts, are there.

Care has no home

song:

Within the realm of ceaseless prayer and
Its billows break away, and melt in foam,
Far from the mansions of the spirit throng.

The storm's black wing

Is never spread athwart celestial skies:

Its wailings blend not with the voice of spring, As some too tender floweret fades and dies.

NO SICKNESS THERE.

No night distils

189

Its chilling dews upon the tender frame :
No moon is needed there,—the light which fills
That land of glory from its Maker came.

No parted friends

O'er mournful recollections have to weep;
No bed of death enduring love attends
To watch the coming of a pulseless sleep.

No blasted flower

Or withered bud celestial gardens know;
No scorching blast or fierce descending shower
Scatters destruction like a ruthless foe.

No battle word

Startles the sacred host with fear and dread :
The song of peace creation's morning heard
Is sung wherever angel minstrels tread.

Let us depart

If home like this await the weary soul.
Look up, thou stricken one! Thy wounded

heart

Shall bleed no more at sorrow's stern control.

190

PUT OUT THE LIGHTS.

With faith our guide,

White-robed and innocent, to lead the way,
Why fear to plunge in Jordan's rolling tide,
And find the ocean of eternal day?

ANONYMOUS.

PUT OUT THE LIGHTS.

UT out the lights :

PUT

He will not need them more.

Your work is done: his feet have gained
The fairer, purer shore.

Put out the lights:

For him the morning gleams.

The sweetest waking he has known

To-day upon him beams.

Put out the lights:

Sleep on, and take your rest.
He is the patient watcher now,
And we the souls distressed.